Aftermath
by Erik Thomas Stephans
Summary: HPDH: What if Tom Riddle could be redeemed? Dark!Top!Harry NotSoEvil!Tom  Redemption, in it's own way, can be quite condemning.


**Aftermath**

_by Angelis Raye_

_"It's your one last chance," said Harry, "it's all you've got left... I've seen what you'll be otherwise... Be a man... try... Try for some remorse..."_

"_You dare-?" _Voldemort began, though faltering a little. The boy couldn't lie to him, and even if he tried, those brilliant green eyes wouldn't be so full of determination and stubbornness if he was.

_"Yes, I dare," _Harry retorted hastily, wand at the ready. Something, however, told him that he might not need it… the Dark Lord was hesitating. Could this really be happening? There was no way that Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was going to just _back down_.

Even as the Chosen One thought that he was merely seeing things, the hooded figure stepped back, lowering his arm, becoming nearly defenceless. "I suppose you can talk some sense after all, Potter. Or was it your mudblood friend that told you this?" he smirked, crimson-hot eyes levelling on Harry as he spoke, then darting to Hermione as he mentioned her.

Harry seethed a bit, but realised that wouldn't be the correct approach to the situation at hand. Scowling, then heaving a sigh, looking at Hermione, his glance saying more than any words he could come up with.

Taking his friend's nod as a go-ahead, Harry steeled himself, facing his foe once more. "Well, Riddle, what of it?" he asked, jaw set.

Amusement flickered through the Dark Lord's bloody eyes, taking the consideration, recalling that all of his followers were dead except a handful, scattered. It was worth it, even if it nearly killed him in the process – at least he'd live. And the living was important – he'd figure out how to manage the consequences later. After all, Potter wouldn't be so bold as to confront him a second time directly if the boy wasn't sure of himself.

"I'll 'try for some remorse', Potter, as long as you agree to stand down," he replied, slipping the Elder Wand visibly into his robes.

Handing Draco's wand to Hermione, then walking forward, rather cautiously, with an outstretched hand, Harry looked into Voldemort's eyes, asking, "I'll do just that if you let me take the Elder wand…"

Meeting The-Boy-Who-Lived's eyes, the man who was once Tom Riddle didn't have to think too hard on the matter to come to a logical conclusion, the long fingers of his left hand retrieving the wand from inside the folds of his robes. Holding it reverently, gazing at it longingly for one more minute, he then placed it gingerly into the young man's hands.

Smiling at Voldemort was taxing, but Harry forced himself to do it as he took the wand that belonged to him. "Thank you."

Nodding as Potter walked away, taking the wand with him, the Dark Lord retreated into himself, trying to remember how to feel this "remorse"…

But it wasn't working. No matter how he tried, all the things he did had been done to further his cause and all he could see was the way some of his plans went wrong. He felt nothing he could describe as grief or remorse… it just wasn't plausible.

As anxious as the atmosphere had been at the beginning when Harry'd confronted the Dark Lord, the mood had dissipated, many people retreating when the Aurors and Order of the Phoenix members stepping forward, assuring them the situation would be handled. Harry remained as well, as it was his duty to make sure Lord Voldemort was to no longer exist. Nightfall came all too swiftly, causing the Chosen One to step forward once more, "Riddle," he uttered, not sounding too friendly, but doing his best. "It's almost –"

"You're a terrible liar, Potter," the other chuckled, a cruel smile curling on his thin lips as he interrupted the boy. "And so is your mudblood friend. It won't work."

"It's possible," Harry grumbled. "You just aren't trying _hard enough_," he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I suppose your Auror friends would care to cart me away, now, I see," Voldemort sneered at the crowd.

"They would prefer that, yes, but I won't let them," he scowled, meeting Riddle's eyes, feeling a bit for the old snake even though he tried to suppress it.

'_Old snake_! Really, Potter?' the Dark Lord tittered, a natural Legimens – apparently, something the boy had forgotten already.

Flushing in anger at the mental retort he heard echoing in his head, Harry Potter growled, grinding his teeth in frustration. "Shut your trap, Riddle."

At that, the hooded man nearly reached for his wand only to remember that the other had it, withering a little. He had no way of defending himself other than his natural born skills with no way to channel them.

"Mister Potter, he _will_ have to come with us…" one of the Auror started in, clearing his throat first, then stepping toward the Chosen One. "Mister Potter…?"

"I _heard_ you, but he's not going to be going with you, Williamson!" he spat back, turning on his heel, the Elder wand pointed in the wizard's direction. "He's my responsibility! None of you helped me when I needed you most, so why bother helping _now_ after it's too late?"

Another Auror, this time Kingsley Shacklebolt, spoke, "Now, Harry… please, be reasonable with this. You can understand why the Ministry needs to take him into custody."

Scowling all the same, though lowering his wand, knowing any attacks would likely be the wrong move, Harry grounded out, "He just needs more time! And locking him up in Azkaban won't help! Nor will being Kissed!"

The older wizard nodded gravely, knowing that would be what the wizarding community would eventually demand and the Ministry would be all to welcome to the idea, no matter what their Saviour demanded. Harry's choice was just, but not the way anyone else felt on the matter. The man he wanted to save was far too gone in the opinions of the vast majority of the wizards and witches still alive after not only one confrontation with this Dark Lord, but two. And both were equally disastrous and nearly ended in utter chaos. Even with all this, Harry Potter was willing to stand up for what was right and Kingsley applauded him for it.

"You're too correct," he agreed, the look in his eyes grave. "The Ministry will let you take care of this, but if there is any slight deviation in your care, we will have to step in and finish things from there, as unpleasant as that may be."

"I understand," the boy nodded, grimly.

"You'll have to have at least one other person with you… I assume you'll be going to the Black House?"

"That's the plan. I don't think I could ever convince…." And then it dawned on Harry just who he could recruit for this matter at hand.

The Malfoys.

Speaking of the Malfoys, Harry spotted something shift out of the corner of his eye. Looking up, he saw the tale-tell sign of white-blond hair streaking across the lawn.

"Oh, Malfoy," Harry called, perhaps a bit too cheerfully a rather nasty grin on his face, striding purposefully toward them, frozen in their tracks, Harry's eyes narrowing as he approached.

"P-Potter, what do you want?" Draco stumbled a little, flushed with embarrassment of being caught so easily by his rival. Glancing over his saviour's shoulder, however, he lost the little colour he had in his cheeks when he spied the form of the Dark Lord still alive.

"_You didn't kill him!_" came a hiss, this time it came from Narcissus Malfoy, quite dishevelled, her hair and fine robes in disarray.

Harry merely smiled, the lack of sunlight causing his eyes to dim, looking nearly black, the shadows playing on his face, sending chills down the Malfoy's collective spines.

"He isn't… he didn't," Narcissus began, not sure how to ask in a roundabout manner, the sight of the Chosen One's face dark and cruel-looking in such a circumstance.

"_Imperio_'d me, Missus Malfoy? Most assuredly not. Riddle… you don't have to worry too much about him . I'm told I need someone to aid me in his… rehabilitation," he carried on, all too pleased with himself that he would be able to gain the family's trust. He freed them from the Dark Lord and saved Draco from certain death in the Room of Requirement not but hours before.

Seeing only trembling and mistrust in their eyes, Harry contemplated a different approach. Perhaps…

"If you help me, I'll be sure to allow you to redeem your family name, Missus Malfoy," he appealed.

Grudgingly, it seemed that Lady Malfoy agreed, bowing her head slightly to the short young man. "Very well, then, Potter… as long as you take care of things."

"Brilliant," Harry grinned, leading the way back to the Aurors, Hermione still hanging back near the edges, Draco's wand in her hand, rather interested in the goings-on between her friend and the Malfoys.

"You have my wand, Granger," Draco stated, eyes trained on it, not leaving it but for a second to give the girl a hateful gaze.

"Oh, I do, don't I, Malfoy," she returned, rather bemused by Draco's stubborn pride, turning the elegant wand over in her hand, gray eyes following it like a cat's on a bird, nearly ready to pounce.

"Hermione, I think you should just… give him his wand back. After all –"

"You're right, Harry. He'll definitely need it when dealing with you and that _man_," she replied, handing over the wand a bit carelessly, the platinum-blond nearly dropping it, eyes going wide as he finally grasped the end of it.

The girl joined Ron to return to the Weasley's house, waving to Harry, wishing him best of luck, even though he'd likely cause all sorts of havoc in the meanwhile, leaving just the Malfoys, the Aurors, and a rather pleased Riddle, a wide smile twisting his lips as his eyes lingered on Harry.

"Perhaps this won't be so unpleasant in the end, Potter," Harry heard a voice whisper in his ear, though he knew it wasn't said aloud.

Harry gave a look to the man behind him, curious why the former Dark Lord would sound so bloody amused by the scene, but thinking the better of questioning it. "We'll be staying in the Black House. I'm sure you know of it's location, Missus Malfoy?" the young Saviour began, addressing the situation.

"I do."

"Splendid, shall we go, then?"

Landing in the middle of the entry way, Harry and Tom Riddle glared at each other vehemently once they could separate, the latter none too pleased with the method of transportation.

Shortly thereafter, with the two men standing on the opposite sides of the foyer, Narcissus and Draco Malfoy arrived right after one another, still worse for the wear.

"I'll alert Krecher to bring your things, Missus Malfoy," Harry suggested, trying to take his mind off of the near future conditions of his living quarters. "Feel free to claim any room you wish," he added, knowing that none of them would take the room he wanted for himself: Sirius's room.

Once they settled in, more or less, Riddle taking the opportunity to tease Harry by initially claiming Sirius Black's room, his hand on the door when the young man came to arrange things for himself. Quite angrily, the Gryffindor had bared his teeth at the cloaked man who's life he'd spared, but then as soon as the Slytherin Heir opened the door and put one foot in, he was absolutely repulsed by the hangings and decorations present in the room and stormed out, taking instead, the room that had once belonged to the man who had taken the Slytherin locket from him. At least Regulus Black had proper taste in décor.

A week went by with little hassle, thankfully, though there had been almost no interaction between any of the parties involved, keeping schedules as opposite as possible, even alerting each other sometimes of plans to avoid the others on purpose. But that could only go on for so long until eventually, as Harry had let the former Dark Lord know of his plans for dinner, but had forgotten of his plan of having a fire-call with Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had been announced the Minister of Magic a few days before and delayed his dinner. When he finally managed to get some time to himself, starving as he was, he made what would likely be too much for himself, Riddle walking in on him as he just finished making the meal.

Eyebrows raised in a mixed surprise, he smirked, quickly regaining himself, "Why Potter, did you make me dinner?"

"Not purposefully. I suppose you're just lucky I couldn't care less if Krecher can make himself dinner or not and there's too much for my plate. Here," he grumbled, pulling down another plate roughly, the bottom clanging against the counter as he set it down. Preparing the other's plate hastily, then setting the pots and pans to work in the sink with a flick of his wand.

Eyes set on the vast difference between the food on the plates, the elder narrowed his eyes at Harry's plate, taking the fork and transferring some of it to his. "Don't want you to get all fat and lazy, now, do we, Mister Chosen One," he hissed in a taunt when the young man turned, catching him in the act, mouth hanging open.

Harry muttered under his breath, once he took back his plate from the taller man, scowling fiercely, the two sat at opposite ends of the table. Unfortunately, that meant that every time Harry let his eyes wander, they would settle on the thin form of the man he used to call his enemy and then would hastily dart away.

Both tried to eat as slow as possible as to give enough time for the other to leave first, they ended up finishing roughly at the same time. "So it seems you're not a failure at everything you do, after all, Potter. You can cook rather decently. At least, better than the Malfoys."

"Do I?" the Chosen One asked, a retort rising to the tip of his tongue too easily, "So, it seems the Old Snake can't even make himself a meal, get the Malfoys to prepare him a proper one, or even coerce a lowly _house elf_ to obey him…. Quite a powerful man you are, Riddle."

Shocked more than anything, rage quickly overtaking him, the once-great Dark Lord reached for his wand on impulse, only to find, again, the wand he was looking for levelled at him by none other than Potter. Furious, crimson eyes blazing hotly in their sockets, the Slytherin wishing to lunge at the boy but thinking the better of it. He was enduring this to _live _not to get himself killed.

"Forgot you gave your wand away to one Lucius Malfoy, did you, Riddle?" the boy laughed in a way that was unsettling familiar to the former dark lord, Harry's eyes narrowing and darkening in the candle light.

There was something about the young man that had changed over the last week, replacing Harry's former bold and adventurous nature with an image of Riddle's own sly and cruel persona from his youth. This thought struck something deep within Tom Riddle and though the rage he felt still clung to him it was disturbing enough to chill him to the marrow.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you it's rude to stare?" Potter mused, rising from the bench, chuckling darkly, off to tidy after himself. "Oh, that's right, your mother… hah."

No matter how much ridicule he had to put up with, the older man was far too intrigued by the change in Harry Potter's (the one once called the Gryffindor Golden boy) personality that he let himself be debased again and again. But every glimmer of information he collected was far worth the injuries his pride had to endure, and it seemed, after a month of this, the insults that spewed from Potter's mouth didn't cut quite as deep as before although they grew more venomous in nature.

One morning in particular, though, as Harry prepared breakfast for them both, grudgingly as always, muttering about how useless the life he saved was for the inability to properly care for itself, the young man noticed a change in the Slytherin man's appearance. Something that Riddle, himself, had not caught.

"You've got hair. Since when? Decide to brew a hair growth tonic?" he mused, lips parting in a malicious grin, but at the same time was deeply curious.

"Of all the insults you could come up with this morning… that's your best, Potter? Seeing things are you?" the Slytherin scoffed, sitting down to eat his morning meal.

Sighing indignantly, the youth made his way to set the plate in front of the other, an eyebrow raised as he drew close. "You do have hair, you liar. And you told me that _I_ was a bad liar. You, sir, Tom Riddle, are far worse at it than I. Lost your touch after all those years?"

"It seems that fraternising with the enemy does that to you, their stupidity rubs off, apparently."

As soon as the words came from the man's mouth, Harry's hand found itself against Riddle's cheek, causing the blood to rise to the surface of the skin, marking him.

A thin, bony hand rose to his cheek, somewhat shocked that Potter would use _violence_ against him, for such a small jab. He'd put up with a lot worse abuse from the other in the last week than that one comment was worth. "Shove off, Potter," he growled.

"You have no right to tell me what to do, you old snake," Harry hissed in retort, showing his teeth a little, serving his own plate, returning the pan to the kitchen with a loud clamour.

Mind suddenly possessed by an idea, the older man went to stand in the doorway, catching the boy as he turned, forcing him against a wall, hands wrapping tight around the smaller's wrists, his mouth pressing against the other's. Shocked, Harry didn't know what to make of this, but just before he realised exactly what was going on, Riddle's canines and incisors bit down hard on his tongue, drawing blood easily, the grip on his wrists tightening, nails digging into the veins.

"Well then, _Tom_," Harry teased, grinning as best he could, a malicious glint shone in his eyes, his leg rising to knee the former Dark Lord in the stomach causing him to loose his balance. "_If that's how you like to play…_" he hissed lowly into the man's ear, quickly gaining the upper hand, despite his much smaller frame, forcing the man who was once his enemy onto the bench wand drawn.

An unsuspecting Draco meandered in at just the wrong time, eyes going wide as he finally comprehended what he was seeing before him. "Oh, Merlin's beard," he breathed, unable to move for a while, frozen in terror, then scampering away quickly, all thoughts of food forgotten for the day.

Continuing on as if he hadn't been interrupted, drunk with the power he had over the man who was once feared by all of wizarding kind, Harry shifted himself slightly. "I'm not afraid of you, Riddle. Not in the slightest. I think it's _you_ who's afraid of _me_, now," he noted, their eyes meeting, the once-bright green eyes of the Saviour nearly stained black in colour, hard and cruel.

"I fear _no one_, Potter. Especially not _you_," he ground out, snapping his teeth together in rebellion.

"_You fear not me, but yourself, Tom Marvolo Riddle… the man who became Lord Voldemort, the greatest and most terrible dark lord of all time. And you see you in me_, don't you, Tom?"

Furious, the man struggled against his captor, but Harry wouldn't have any of that, pressing the tip of the legendary Deathstick to Tom's lips, his face drawing close enough that they could taste each other. And just before the younger man removed himself from his presence, Riddle swore that he saw something in the once-bright eyes of the youth who'd spared his life that he'd only seen in his own. A terrible, all consuming lust for power.

I realise it's been a really long while since I've written a fic, but... here's this one. I hope it makes up for all the wait. I've been itching to write something like this since the 7th book came out, and well... here it is! I finally accumulated enough skill to be able to write something well enough. But not without help, of course, a good friend of mine proof-read this and enjoyed it a bit too much, perhaps? Hah, in any case, I do hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please drop me a line.

Any and all comments, questions, and suggestions will be responded to and read with diligence.


End file.
